


Running To Stand Still

by TravelingSong



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelingSong/pseuds/TravelingSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She wanted to despise him. She desperately wanted to loathe him. She wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. Make him suffer. But she couldn't. The only definite truth in her life was simply this: She couldn't bring herself to hate Raymond Reddington."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: Running To Stand Still by U2

_She is raging, she is raging  
_ _And the storm blows up in her eyes_

She stood in the hallway, inanimate, shocked.  
Waiting for the walls to close in on her. Waiting for the world to shatter into pieces and bury her underneath.

It had been him all along.  
He had killed her father.  
Raymond Reddington was a monster.

She had driven to his hotel room, confronted him face to face. And he had admitted it, had tried to justify it. But she had been long gone, his words lost on her. Someone had yelled and someone had teared up and someone had turned around and left. It might have been her, she couldn't be sure. Maybe this was all a cruel dream and she merely had to open her eyes to escape it. Wake up.  _Wake up_.

Every breath was torture, every step agony as she trudged towards the living room, her long coat sheltering her from the pertinacious memories that lurked like ghosts in every corner. She stopped behind the armchair, her gaze directed towards the colorful pillows on the couch. She remembered how he had sat across from her here, his right arm stretched out, his legs crossed. How relieved and happy she had been to see him after his protracted absence. And she had welcomed him into her home; they had shared a bottle of wine. The atmosphere had been friendly.  _And Sam's blood had been on his hands_. The realization sent painful shivers down her spine.

_You gotta cry without weeping_  
_Talk without speaking  
_ _Scream without raising your voice_

Grief and anger make for an intricate alliance. Despite all expectation, the mixture functions much more as an anesthetic than a catalyst. In her mind Liz shattered bottles and vases, threw picture frames against the wall, knocked over chairs and tables, screamed from the top of her lungs. Burned it all to the ground. But in reality, in relentless reality, all furniture remained in place and not a single sound left her mouth.

The silence was deafening.  
The numbness overwhelming.

Liz slumped against the living room wall and hugged her knees to her chest. Minutes flew by, eyes opened and closed. The nightmare continued. When she heard the door open, she didn't move an inch. And when the intruder knelt down in front of her and whispered the two syllables, she looked back at him. Her face a blank canvas devoid of all emotion.

He caressed her cheek.  
Hoped for a moment.  
 _Lizzie._

Her name on his lips was the match that finally ignited her anger. Liz leapt to her feet in a sudden movement, leaving Red startled on the floor, and took a few steps back, hands held out in front of her.

"Don't you fucking touch me, Red." She walked towards the kitchen table, desperately seeking a physical barrier to put between them. "Stay away from me and get out of my house!"

Red got up in a swift motion, straightened his coat and raised his head to look at her. His body stiffened when he met her eyes- her sad, contemptuous eyes. Every cell of his being wanted to approach her and hold her and tell her the truth. But he stood frozen, preparing himself for the sorrow still to come.

"I trusted you.  _I trusted you_. I let you comfort me. I told you stories. Is this some sick game to you? The lies, the secrets? Seeing me hurt?" Her voice was drenched in disdain and Red let it wash over him like a tidal wave crashing upon the shore. Let it submerge him.

"I never lied to you, Lizzie. I withheld parts of the truth, yes. But I never lied to you." Nothing in his tone mirrored his inner despondency. Somehow he wished it had. "I know that you can't possibly fathom this now, but you have to believe me when I tell you I did it for you. And I did it for Sam. I have told you before that I will always do whatever I feel I have to do to keep you alive. And if Sam had been thinking clearly, he would have given me his blessing. He would have begged me to go through with it."

He watched Liz's hands clench into fists. He knew she needed him to leave. But he couldn't. This might be his last chance.

"Sam was like a brother to me. I loved him, Lizzie. Don't even think for a second this was easy for me. The moment Sam died a part of me died with him."

Something in Liz's expression changed at his final remark, though Red couldn't quite interpret it. He stepped forward and Liz flinched. And finally he understood. And he faltered.

"I'm done, Red. Whatever this is for you, whatever  _I_  am to you…It's over." Barely a whisper, but powerful all the same.

They had done this before. They had stood at the crossroads before.  
The perpetual quest for definite choices.

And he remembered her answer.  
Which is why the phrase leaving his mouth at that very instant was an exact replica.

„Tell me to go, Lizzie."

_Tell me to go_. She had heard these words before and she had remained silent back then. Had allowed him to stay. But this time anguish was engrained in every fiber, in her skin and bones, and forgiveness, understanding even, was no longer an option. A future with Raymond Reddington was no longer an option.

She stepped back, tightly grasping the kitchen table- she feared her legs would fail her at any second- and fixed her eyes on the rug beneath his feet. The words on the tip of her tongue, awaiting their release. She inhaled deeply, garnered fragments of courage. Finally, a declaration.

"Go. Please go, Red. I can't do this anymore." Her voice was trembling, her body shaking. "You  _killed_ my father. You killed the one person I loved the most. I can't look at you without seeing Sam's murderer."

Every syllable a dagger.  
Thrust into his heart.  
With force.

Life came to a full stop right then and there. Red stood still, stared, held his breath.

She didn't dare to look at him. But she heard him move. Heard his footsteps on the wooden floor. Walking away, slowly.

Heard the door slam shut.

And she broke down.

_And so she woke up  
Woke up from where she was lying still_

Liz didn't know how many minutes or hours or days had passed, but she found herself on the kitchen floor, enclosed by darkness, the salty taste of tears on her lips.

Rock bottom.

Clinging tightly to the counter she pulled herself up and leaned heavily against the fridge. Her left hand fumbled for the light switch and finally found it, and she squinted her eyes when the bright ceiling lamp illuminated her surroundings. Her gaze shifted towards the blinking numbers of the microwave display and she cringed. 10.30pm. Red had left three hours ago. Her head was still spinning.

She wanted to despise him. She desperately wanted to loathe him. She wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. Make him suffer.

But she couldn't.

The only definite truth in her life was simply this: She couldn't bring herself to hate Raymond Reddington.

And when she heard a knock on the door she allowed herself that one final moment of weakness, that final flash of hope, and she hurried down the hall.

The fact that Red had never knocked before didn't even cross her mind.

And as she turned the doorknob she spoke without fully casting a glance at the man on the other side.

"Red, I-"

"Hey babe."

_She runs through the streets  
_ _With her eyes painted red_

His fingers absent-mindedly traced the lining of his fedora while he watched the outside world pass by from the back seat of his black Mercedes. Lost deep in thought, frantically trying to chase away the demons haunting his mind.

Damage.  
Irreparable damage.

Liz's pronouncement had left invisible scars all over his body.  
Liz's broken expression had deemed every single one of his coping mechanisms invalid.

He ran a hand over the back of his head and paused when his fingers grazed the inconspicuous scar on his neck.  _She had done this to him_. His pulse throbbing under her grasp.

The physical pain had always been bearable.  
Pens were never as fatal as words.

He had allowed himself to get close to her.  _Too damn close_. Had allowed himself to fall in love with her volatility, her intelligence, her benevolence, her sanguine eyes, her soft voice, her vulnerability. Had allowed himself to fall in love with  _her_.

And now all he could do was leave, vanish from the face of the earth, completely disappear from her life. Because that was what she wanted and he had no right to deny her wish. Because losing the people he loved and cared about the most was his tragic destiny. The fate the universe had bestowed upon him.

He would protect and watch her from afar. Continue to keep her safe like he had always done. Out of sight.

Raymond Reddington would take a bullet for Elizabeth Keen.  
Even if she was the one pulling the trigger.

_Step on a steam train_  
_Step out of the driving rain, maybe  
_ _Run from the darkness in the night_

Somewhere across town a gun went off. Tissue shattered. And Elizabeth Keen's body fell to the floor.


	2. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: Hurt by Johnny Cash

_Everyone I know goes away  
_ _In the end_

Blood.

All he saw was blood.

In every gap, every grain, every fiber.

The floor was covered in a veil of crimson and he was standing in its centre, leaving innocent footprints. He closed his eyes. Inhaled. Felt the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Felt the rage boiling up. He would catch Tom Keen. Make him pay, make him suffer.  _All I feel is hate._

**-Two hours earlier-**

The city lights gleamed like stars as Raymond Reddington leaned back in his seat and listened to the soft trundling of the passing cars. In less than an hour he would be on a plane to Mexico, leaving Washington and the FBI and his immunity behind. Leaving  _Lizzie_  behind.

He pursed his lips at the thought and shook his head. Now was not the time for sentimentality.  
She had made her choice. He would obey. His pain was of no importance.

_Please go, Red. I can't do this anymore._

Everything had been set up. His people would keep watching her, keep him updated regularly. Would make sure that nothing happens to her. Financial assets, comprehensive criminal records of Blacklisters, insurances- everything had been taken care of. He owed her that much.

The sudden buzzing of the phone lying next to him interrupted his musings. A quick look at the display. Mr. Kaplan.

"To what do I owe the pleas-?" The voice on the other end interrupted him at once.  
"Raymond, it's the girl."

Confusion. Worry.

"What happened?"  
"She got shot. The husband came back."

Fear. Panic.

"Is she alive?"  
"She's unconscious but breathing. Stomach wound. We don't have much time. Thirty minutes, maybe forty if I can manage to stop the bleeding."

Rationality. Composure.

"Where are you?"  
"At her house."  
"Standard procedure. Shannon Place. I'll see you there in twenty minutes."

Breathe in.  
Breathe out.

_I will let you down  
_ _I will make you hurt_

Red feared his heart would jump out of his chest. He needed to calm down and he needed to think clearly but neither seemed possible. He wanted information, he wanted to know who was responsible, he wanted to know every single detail concerning this incident.

This was never supposed to happen.  
He had let this happen.

_Maybe this was all a cruel dream and he merely had to open his eyes to escape it._

He sat up straight, rubbed his temples, and exhaled. He had to call Daniel.  
He was his only hope. He was  _her_  only hope.

Collectedly, he picked up the phone and dialed a short number, anxiously awaiting a response. One, two…

"Hello?"

A sigh of relief.

„Daniel, it's Raymond. Listen to me carefully. A black SUV will arrive in front of the warehouse in about 15 minutes. The patient's name is Elizabeth Keen. Abdominal gunshot wound. Emergency protocol. Understood?"

"Understood."

"I will be there shortly. And Daniel?"

"Yes, Raymond?"

" _Save her_."

_I focus on the pain  
_ _The only thing that's real_

Daniel Albright was fifty-three years old, lanky, with thick black hair and kind blue eyes. A JHU Medical School graduate at the age of twenty-five, a Wolf Prize laureate at the age of thirty. A brilliant, yet amiable man. Pronounced dead in 2005.

According to his obituary, he perished in a plane crash in the Sierra Mountains. In reality he had never even set foot on the airstair. But he had ceased to exist all the same. What else could one do when there was no place left to hide?

Raymond Reddington had made him disappear.  
Raymond Reddington had saved his life.

He prepared the OR for the arrival of his next patient. It always worked the same way: Red gave instructions and he refrained from asking questions. Over the past nine years he had treated fractures, traumas, burns, stab wounds; had stitched up criminals, refugees, agents, politicians, smugglers. The run-down warehouse he resided in accommodated the best medical equipment in the world. Red took care of the funding as Red had taken care of everything else.

He was watching the surveillance monitor on the other side of the room when a black SUV pulled up in front of the building. Albright arranged his instruments, left the OR and quickly walked down a narrow hallway towards a solid roller shutter. At the push of a button it opened up and Mr. Kaplan appeared in front of him.

Emergency protocol. This would be one hell of a night.

_Try to kill it all away  
_ _But I remember everything_

Dembe had changed their route the instant he had heard Red mention 'Shannon Place'. He knew what this meant. And he was deeply worried.

He could feel Red grow more nervous with every passing minute. He was fidgeting in his seat, tapping his fingers against the arm rest, breathing heavily. The highway was still crowded- an ocean of bright red lights.  _As luck would have it_. When they finally got off Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue and turned into Shannon, it was already past midnight. Red's fingers were clinging to the handle.

The car stopped. Red jumped out. The gate opened and Mr. Kaplan came forward.

"Where is she?"

"She's in the OR. It doesn't look good, Raymond. The wound is…messy. And she's lost a substantial amount of blood."

"I gotta see her."

"That's not possible."

"Pardon?"

"I'm not going to let you inside, Raymond. Any kind of disruption could be fatal. You'll have to trust Daniel."

Red opened his mouth, but remained silent.

She had never seen him like this. Forlorn, desperate. His usual confidence completely gone.  
The Raymond Reddington she knew was coming undone in front of her. A frightening sight to behold. He was in too deep.

She put her hand on his shoulder and spoke in a reassuring tone.

"Raymond, dear, as difficult as I know this is for you, you have to leave. Go home, calm down. I will contact you as soon as I receive new information."

Red's gaze dropped to the ground in resignation and he sighed. His voice was steady.

"She has to come out of this alive, do you understand me? I...I lov-"

"I know dear, I know."

And with that rare admission of sympathy Mr. Kaplan turned around and disappeared inside, and Raymond Reddington succumbed to the ubiquitous darkness of the night.

One single destination in mind.

_Full of broken thoughts  
I cannot repair_

Blood.

All he saw was blood.

In every gap, every grain, every fiber.

He wished it were his own and not hers. He had vowed to protect her and had failed miserably.

And as he remembered the way they had parted a few hours ago, he felt tears well up in his eyes.

The only definite truth was simply this: If Elizabeth Keen's heart stopped beating tonight, Raymond Reddington would never recover.


	3. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: Sleeping by Glen Hansard

_He sits comfortably, vest unbuttoned, drink in his hand, at peace with his surroundings. The concept of having a home means nothing to him anymore, hasn't meant anything for a long time, but he likes it here. Something about this house makes him feel content. Relaxed, even. A rare delight for people like him. A sentiment he would savor._

_Outside the window a car comes to a stop. He leans forward, grabs another tumbler off the table, pours another drink. He knows it is her, listens to her knock on the door and finally her faint footsteps drawing nearer._

_She's standing in front of him now, a hint of regret enlacing her features. Palpably uncertain, questioning her own intentions._

_Somewhere in the depth of her irises he can trace it, the insidious grain growing stronger and stronger. Doubt. Though he is not its object. It just blossoms in his favor._

_He doesn't wait for a reaction or an explanation. He simply hands her the glass. She takes it. Their fingers brush._

_No._

_Their fingers linger. It's weakness and it's surrender and it's yearning. A brief glimpse into the darkest corners of his soul. A wistful moment of human connection._

_It's skin against skin._  
Innocence against sin.  
A constant juxtaposition.

_She sits down at the other end of the couch; he turns his head away from her. Tries to ease the tension tangible in the air._

" _Funny. All these wonderful manuscripts, and my favorite thing about this place is still the view from the sofa. I love how the light breaks through the trees." The warm timbre of his voice fills the room._

" _I don't even know why I'm here," she admits after a prolonged pause._

" _But I'm glad you are," he wants to respond. He doesn't._

_Instead he basks in the warm evening sun and her presence._

_Once again, content._

_Are you sleeping? Still dreaming?  
Still drifting off alone?_

He woke to a sharp sting in his neck and reluctantly opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep in a rather unfavorable position and now every tense muscle in his body was paying the prize. For a moment he couldn't remember where he was. Then he laid eyes on the bed in front of him. And the monitors. The drip. Cannulas piercing into skin. Patches and tubes. At last, her face. Her strangely pale face. He sighed.

He had left Liz's house the moment Kaplan's team had moved in to take care of the crime scene. Had wandered the streets for hours before he had received a call from Daniel.  _She's alive_. Had driven to the warehouse at once and requested, no, demanded to see her. This time Kaplan had let him in. And he had braced himself for the moment when his numbness would finally waver and he would be at the mercy of his own emotions.

_I'm not listening for signals_ _  
_ _It's all dust now on the shelf_

_First come the words. Then, the tears._

" _I feel like I'm drowning."_

_They sit next to each other, closer than usual, their arms slightly touching. A certain familiarity emanates from them, a certain air of honesty. He listens carefully, intently, to every syllable, every diffident confession. His brows furrowed, his gaze fixed at nothing in particular in the distance. Last measures of self- control, really. He's walking a fine line and drifting precariously close to losing his balance. He hates to see her like this, hates to discern the sorrow in her voice. This candid display of frailty, the lack of confidence. But above all he hates his own inability to help her, to comfort her. Then he hears someone speak._

" _You can trust me."_

 _A promise._  
A declaration.  
All he has to offer.

_He hopes it's enough, but suspects it won't be. Not yet. He can feel it, her eyes turning towards him, pleading. For answers, apologies._

" _I needed you to be wrong about him."_

_For a brief instance he wishes for the same thing, if only to end her struggle. But matters aren't that easy. She has to find the truth herself, he knows that. It kills him. The waiting. Patience. He can't look at her. But he takes her hand. Gives her something to hold on to. Something to save her from the ever-rising tide that is steadily approaching._

_An invisible bond is formed. Assuasive silence washes over them._

_I'm not leaving with this feeling_ __  
_So you'd better best be told_ __**  
**

"Agent Keen is accompanying me on a, what shall we call it, excursion. Chicago. I would appreciate it, Harold, if this piece of information were to be treated with utmost discretion. I don't plan on getting us both killed because the FBI couldn't keep its mouth shut."

"What makes you think I would allow you to take one of our agents on-"

"If I remember correctly I have a list in my possession that you are quite interested in. Would be a shame for it to disappear, wouldn't it, Harold?"

"Is that a threat, Reddington?"

"Ah yes, thank you. Always a pleasure doing business with you." Before Cooper could open his mouth again, Red hung up. The alibi would be sufficient, at least for now, and frankly he had more urgent matters to attend to. First and foremost, the woman fighting for her life in the adjacent room.

_It's so simple, and fitting_ _  
_ _The path that you are on_

" _You and I, we're done."_

_The phrase catches him by surprise. He didn't expect this. Didn't prepare for this._

_She's upset, angry. Her voice soaked in fury, her eyes dark. The endless accusations and allegations hit him like bullets, dismantling his armor, leaving bitter scars. He endures it, knows there is no way out of this. Knows there is no use in denying. Because tonight she will not listen to any word he says. Tom Keen had made sure of that._

_She doesn't realize it, doesn't quite grasp it, this power she has over him. She could break him with a snap of her fingers. Right now, she's dangerously close._

_There was something between them and it frightened him and maybe she was feeling it, too._

_He failed to specify it, couldn't bring himself to put a name on it. And when he finally did, it was already too late._

" _Go to hell."_

_The final blow. Severe._

_He remains still and lets her go. Wakes from his trance-like state only when he hears the door slam shut. Ponders and reflects and feels the misty sentiment clouding his eyes. Feels his rationality slip away, just for a brief moment._

_Raymond Reddington is hurting. Elizabeth Keen is responsible._

_We're not talking, there's no secrets_ __  
_There's just a note that you have gone_ __**  
**

The room was bleak. Sterile, colorless. Red found it unimaginable that patients could actually get better in this desolate environment, still he knew there were no alternatives. If he wanted to keep Lizzie safe, the warehouse and Daniel's care were his best options. At least until she woke up.

The surgery had been complicated, Daniel told him. The internal bleeding massive. It would take some time for her to recover. Her condition was  _still_  critical, she was  _still_  unconscious. And Red wouldn't leave her side.

He gently ran his hand up and down her arm. Told her stories of past business deals gone wrong, one more outrageous than the other, and expected her to wake up any second with a smile on her lips and a witty remark on the tip of her tongue. Yet she just lay there, eerily inanimate, utterly unimpressed by his tales. But her heart was still beating. And that was the sweetest sound of all.

_And how am I supposed to live without you?  
A wrong word said in anger and you were gone_

" _You were right."_

_He nods and she walks past him, entering his current domicile._

_She deliberately approaches the couch and sits, and he joins her a few minutes later with the music box in his hands. Turns it on and waits. Defers the original intent of her visit for a few pleasant moments._

_The pieces interact beautifully, creating soothing sequences and dulcet melodies, and he turns and watches her, observes her reaction and tries to interpret its ramifications beyond her words._

_Every note a realization, another connection made. Wheels turning in her head. The person she knows as Tom Keen is miles away right now. It's just them. Them and this delicate relationship full of twists and turns, and upheld by thousands of threads carefully interwoven. They have come so far._

_Her world collapses like a house of cards. So does his._

" _You knew I'd find out the truth. And you wanted me…"_

_It occurs instantly, the shifting of paradigms, the faltering of carefully crafted inhibitions._

_He frowns and he struggles and he feels his arms reaching out to her because there is no use in fighting it any longer and he knows it. He encloses her with his warmth, breathes her in, hopes desperately that every feather-light kiss lingering in her hair will take away the pain, fragment by fragment. He makes promises he will not be able to keep_ -  _everything is going to be okay_ - _and he senses that wonderful abyss drawing him in, senses her closeness, indulges in the intimacy of her body against his. Trusting, vulnerable, trembling. And finally, still._

_All remaining defenses shatter when she falls asleep in his embrace._

_And how in the world did we come_ _  
_ _To have such an absent love?_

Hours had passed and he was still right beside her. Exhausted, but awake. He could hear Daniel pacing up and down the hallway outside; he wasn't sure if Kaplan had left already. He checked his watch- 5pm- and focused on the sound of Liz's breathing. Absent-mindedly he tugged a strand of hair behind her ears and let his hand rest on her cheek for a moment. Her skin was cold, her expression peaceful.

He noticed it then, a faint twitch under her left brow. He withdrew his hand and watched in disbelief as her eyes opened slowly.

A smile. A whisper.

"Hello Lizzie."


	4. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: All For A Woman by The Airborne Toxic Event

The warmth of his presence and the gentleness of his touch were the first sensations she experienced. A hand on her cheek. Tender, soft. She kept her eyes closed; she knew it was him. Faint impulses palpitated, quivering vibrations surged ahead. His heartbeat was a steady source of life; his _pulse_  a familiar tremor vivifying her every cell. His skin against hers the sole remedy.

She felt weightless. Far away from truth, far away from terrifying memories. She might have been dreaming. She might have been-

_Tom._

Images appeared. Blurry at first, but becoming clearer little by little. A knock. A gun pointed at her and a shot and a body falling to the floor and agonizing pain. Footsteps in the distance and a voice and someone calling her name and blood, there was  _so much blood_ , and she was so tired and she knew this was it, this had to be it, because no human body could endure this kind of suffering, and the idea of death seemed so comforting. And she wanted it to stop, no, she needed it to stop. And finally it did.  _And finally it did._

But she was still breathing.

A realization. A sudden spasm. And Elizabeth Keen opened her eyes.

Her gaze wandered across the room, from the cold, white walls to the numerous monitors and tubes, and at last to the man beside her. His hands grasping the side of her bed, his shoulders more slumped than usual, his shirt creased, but  _his smile_ , his smile was like a welcoming embrace, like a safe shelter in the middle of a raging storm. And she heard him whisper.

_Hello Lizzie._

She was taken aback by the utter lack of pretense in his expression- the plethora of emotions. There was joy and fear and, maybe most prominently, relief. But there was also something else, something that had always been there, perhaps, but she never actually recognized. Or maybe she had merely been afraid to put a name on it. Or maybe he had tried harder to conceal it.

Whatever analgesics were currently running through her veins, she knew they had to wear off soon.

When they did, she would rely on Raymond Reddington's soothing voice to alleviate the pain.

 _And I'll keep it quiet_  
_I'll hold you dear_  
 _The whispering fills the ear_

She still looked beautiful, maybe more beautiful than ever. He had watched her intently as her eyes had taken in her surroundings, the bleakness of the room, the outlines of the medical equipment. Had watched her eyes travel from his hands over his chest and up to his face. Had almost stopped breathing when her gaze finally met his. Sweet irony.

Her name on his lips still felt like a second chance. Felt like home.

She didn't respond right away. She simply kept staring at him.

Then she opened her mouth. A strained whisper.

"Red…I…I thought it was you…at the door…but Tom…he…he shot me… I didn't mean to …I'm sorry…" Her voice was trembling, yet her tone was apologetic.

"Shhh, Lizzie," Red carefully smoothed her hair with his right hand, "you have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. Except maybe scaring me half to death."

Liz chuckled but winced instantly. The pain was overwhelming. She could barely stay awake and Red couldn't stand seeing her like this.

He rose from his chair and walked towards the door, before he heard Liz inhale sharply.

"I'll be right back," he promised her softly without turning around-  _this was my fault_ \- and reached for the knob.

 _All of these grateful looks_  
_All these grateful eyes_  
 _All the furious stares and the fretful sighs_

Daniel was rummaging through files in his office when he heard someone approach. He raised his head and saw Red standing in the door frame, a guarded smile on his lips, and he understood right away. She was  _awake_. He breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, quickly assembled the spread out papers on his desk and followed his friend down the hall.

When they entered the room moments later Liz appeared to be sleeping, or so Red made himself believe. Deep down he knew that the pain had taken its toll, that she had been too weak to keep her eyes open any longer. But he quickly banished the thought. Carefully he stepped forward and settled down in the chair that had been his domicile for the past hours. His hand always drawn to her wrist. Her pulse his silent consolation.

He spoke calmly. "Lizzie?" No reaction.

"Lizzie?" More determined this time.

She flinched. Red loosened his grip. Finally, she looked back at him.

"I want you to meet Daniel Albright."

Liz noticed him then, the tall yet unimposing man on the other side of the room. He was dressed in blue scrubs and a white lab coat; his face was boyish despite his furrowed brows, and his fingers were tapping nervously against the side of his thigh. A certain good-naturedness emanated from him, an air of trustworthiness. Still he almost seemed shy, like he actively tried to divert any attention focused on him.

"Hello Ms. Keen." His voice was kind and assuasive. "I'm Doctor Albright. I performed surgery on you earlier."

He paused to watch her reaction and continued when he recognized a slight nod.

"You are a very lucky woman, Ms. Keen. To suffer an abdominal gunshot wound and  _not_ have the bullet puncture any major organs is incredibly unlikely."

He hesitated as Red fidgeted in his chair.

"That being said, it was a –and let me put this mildly- complicated surgery. Gunshot wounds are insidious injuries. The risk of inflammations and infections runs high, tissue will have to be rebuilt. You lost a substantial amount of blood and I can only hope your body won't reject the transfusions. But you are young and as far as I can tell healthy and I am confident you will make a full recovery in due time."

After his brief explanation he approached the bed and readjusted the drip.

"I will increase the dosage of the analgesics to help you sleep. Try to rest, Ms. Keen. I will be back in a little while to check on you." He turned around to face Red. "Raymond, could I speak to you outside for a minute?"

"I'll be right there, Daniel."

Red waited for the door to close, got up and offered Liz a reassuring smile. He wanted to let her know that everything would be okay. Her skin was pale, her features devoid of their usual faint rose glow. Succumbing to an impulse he was too tired to resist he leaned down and tenderly kissed her forehead. Then he left the room and joined Daniel in the hall.

He never saw the gratitude in her eyes before the medication lured her back into darkness.

_But then all at once your head starts to swim  
And you can feel her breath on your skin_

"What do you mean the shooter wanted her to suffer?" Red tried to control the rage boiling up inside of him, but failed miserably.  _All I feel is hate_.

"I'm saying that whoever is responsible for this didn't intend to kill her right away. Judging by the bullet and the path it travelled the shooter deliberately planned on making this as agonizing for her as possible. The person basically wanted her to bleed to death."

Daniel moved closer and continued in a hushed tone.

"Look Raymond, you know I never make inquiries. I do what is asked of me and I am perfectly fine with that. But you obviously care for her, maybe even more than you're willing to admit. Your voice on the phone last night…I knew right away this case was different. This is  _personal_. You don't usually come driving down here to get into the OR, hell, Kaplan never hands me comprehensive medical records on patients either. You were _prepared_  for this and I can tell you right now those preparations most likely saved her life. If Kaplan had arrived ten minutes later, there would have been nothing I could have done. I know you better than most people, Ray, and I know that you won't rest till you find out who pulled the trigger. So for your own sake and for hers as well I hope that you detect that person rather sooner than later."

Red tried to regain his calmness, tried to stop the wheels in his head from turning. Tried to figure out Tom Keen's motivations behind all of this. But he couldn't think straight and he was still standing in the hallway of this desolate warehouse when all he wanted was to leave this place as soon as possible. When all he wanted was to take Liz with him.

"I want to move her to one of my safe houses," he instructed dryly.

A confused look settled on Daniel's face. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. She needs round-the-clock medical attention. I can't provide that any other place than here."

"Do whatever is necessary. I want her out of here by midnight. Call Kaplan. Tell her to set everything up."

Daniel nodded and Red turned around on his heels. Before he reached the door to Liz's room his voice echoed off the walls once more.

"I  _know_  who did it, Dan. And I'll make him pay."

 _And you're standing beside her_  
_The light from inside her_  
 _Filling up the darkness in your head_

He basked in the peacefulness of her steady breathing. The innocence of the moment. Somewhere underneath the white sheets hid the evidence of her mortality. Another scar telling a horrific tale. Another scar that whispered his name.

Liz woke abruptly and smiled when she met Red's warm gaze.

"You're still here," she whispered.  
"I'm still here," he assured her.

He leaned in a little closer. "How are you feeling?"  
"Better," she paused and reflected. "The drugs help."  
"Quite endearing to hear those words out of the mouth of an FBI agent."

Her smile moved up to her eyes. Red's hand moved up to her cheek.  _The gentleness of his touch._

At last, a conversation.

"Where are we, Red?"

"Somewhere safe."

"And who is this Doctor Albright?"

"Oh Lizzie, still curious, I see. Well, we share a long and rather intricate history together. However, I'm going to leave that outrageous story for another time. Just know that I saved his life once, and that he has saved mine many times in return."

"Still secretive, I see." Her response caused Red to chuckle.

"You know, I find it exceedingly comforting to know that your ever charming wit was not at all affected by this precarious incident." His expression grew suddenly serious. "How much do you remember, Lizzie?"

She took a deep breath and turned her eyes toward the low ceiling. "I remember a knock on the door…I think I expected it to be you because I didn't check to see who it was. And when I opened it…There was Tom and he looked…I mean his eyes were dark, almost evil. Contemptuous. And I didn't even have time to react…He just stepped forward and raised his arm and then I saw the gun and I saw the silencer and I knew…I knew it was too late. And I felt myself falling to the floor and…Blood, there was a lot of blood…I heard the door close and I…I tried to move but the pain was numbing my senses. And the door opened again and I saw a woman…Mr. Kaplan…and then…Then everything went dark. And now…Now I'm here."

Red had listened intently. Had noticed that something was missing. And finally allowed himself a daring inquiry.

"Do you remember what occurred  _before_  you opened the door?"

And that's when Liz realized she didn't. She tried to put together the puzzle but certain pieces seemed inaccessible. Maybe her head had hit the floor harder than she remembered. Maybe these things simply happened after traumatic experiences.

But that was just it. If getting shot  _wasn't_  the traumatic experience, then what was it?

She shook her head and Red understood.  
He  _understood._

She didn't remember their confrontation or its motive. She didn't remember her anger, the tears, the disdain.

_She didn't hate him._

He should have told her the truth, should have been a better man. Lies carried such a destructive force.

But he was hurting, too.

And he knew that her memory would come back, knew that it  _had to_  come back eventually. And when it did, he would face the storm. Until then, he would cling to her trust.

"What happened before Tom shot me, Red?"

_Criminals are notorious liars._

"Nothing of importance."

 _Ten-thousand miles from where we began_  
_I fell asleep with a picture in hand_  
 _It was all for a woman_

The move to the safe house went more smoothly than expected. As promised, Daniel had notified Kaplan of Red's decision and while he had gathered his equipment and the needed medication, Kaplan had set up the villa near Piscataway Park.

Liz had agreed without hesitation when Red had suggested the change of location. She was just as eager to leave these cold walls behind as he was. Daniel came checking on her around midnight and confirmed her stable condition; Dembe, who had been guarding the warehouse the entire time, retrieved one of Daniel's converted SUVs from a nearby garage; Red assembled one of the stretchers to move Liz from the bed to the car.

They had all done this before, had all followed the protocol. And still they were painfully aware that mistakes were not an option this time.

But Daniel was right- Red had prepared for this. The worst-case scenario. An attack on the woman he loved.

He wouldn't let Tom Keen near her ever again.

_And everyone asks you if you ever think of her  
So you smile politely and you demur_

Liz found herself in the middle of a large mattress, covered by a down duvet and once more surrounded by familiar monitors. The glowing screens were the only source of light in the dim room and even though she could barely make out any details, a comforting atmosphere echoed off the walls. They had arrived at the safe house after all.

She had fallen asleep as soon as Dembe had turned on the engine. Red had sat next to her, his hand gently running up and down her left arm, a sensation that felt strangely but not unpleasantly intimate. She was grateful for his presence. For the solace he provided. The safety. Somewhere in the distance she had heard Kaplan's voice, had felt how someone carefully lifted her up and set her back down, before she indulged in the soft cushions that absorbed her weak body.

She heard footsteps approaching and moments later the door opened slowly, and Liz flinched at the sudden intrusion of brightness. She recognized Red's silhouette as he stepped over the threshold and left the door ajar behind him, diminishing most of the glare disrupting the calming darkness. It was impossible to read his expression, but his voice was soothing.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Lizzie."  
"You didn't."  
"Very well then." He moved closer. "How's the pain?"  
"Not as bad as earlier."  
"Good. If you need anything, you'll find a remote on the nightstand next to you. Simply press the little green button. Daniel will be staying for a couple of days, so will Mr. Kaplan. You're getting the best possible care, I promise you that."  
"Thank you, Red." His lips curved into a warm smile.  
"I've told you before, Lizzie, I will always do whatever I feel I have to do to keep you alive."

The words lingered. Those last few syllables. The final trigger.

_Whatever I feel I have to do to keep you alive._

_Keep you alive._

And then she remembered.


	5. Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: Nowhere To Be Found by John Fullbright

He noticed. Instantly.

The stiffening of her body. The shifting of emotions.

The change in expression.

The sudden coldness.

Remained still as her mind assembled the pieces and wished desperately for it to stop.

Knew it had to happen, that there was no way around it. That he had asked for this.

Briefly reveled in the memory of his skin against hers because that was all he had now.

Dreaded the moment she would break the silence. Abstained from looking into her eyes. Too afraid of what he might find.

_Lies carried such a destructive force._

The darkness of the room granted him shelter, but the light of the monitors turned in Liz's direction rested on her like spotlights. He could hear her heavy breathing, could almost feel the unsteady palpitations of her wounded heart, and he stepped closer, drawn to her like he always had been, that natural pull between them, those lingering contradictions. And before he could open his mouth to offer apologies he knew wouldn't suffice, she inhaled sharply and started shaking and wincing and grimaced in agony.

Panic.  
Guilt.

He reached out to touch her in a futile attempt to calm her down but his fingers, his  _murderous_  fingers, burned holes into her pale skin and she flinched and looked at him in horror. Red withdrew his hand and rushed towards the door, calling for Daniel to help him, to help  _her_ , and seconds later the doctor was by Liz's side.

Minutes passed. Tranquilizers took effect. Muscles relaxed. The patient drifted off to sleep.

And Raymond Reddington realized that he brought nothing but pain into Elizabeth Keen's life.

_So I'd say I'm sorry but that won't do  
The future's come unwound_

He stood on the small terrace, a glass of Lagavulin in his left hand, and basked in the sanguine beam of sunlight that caressed the swaying tree tops. In the distance the aurora drenched the waters of the Potomac River in calming shades of red. He was still wearing his suit albeit without his usual confidence. The navy silk tie hung loosely around his neck; the buttons of his vest were undone. The  _Concierge of Crime_  looked strangely disheveled.

He took another sip and savored the warming sensation of the alcohol running down his throat. Just for a moment it seemed to alleviate the despair within him, before the chilly morning breeze pulled him back to the presence.

A million thoughts were occupying his mind. A million abstruse sheds of past events.

Still he could only focus on a single one. The look on her face.

There had been certain similarities as both of them had struggled with the ramifications of her realization. Both trying to cope. Both trying to anticipate the reaction of the other. But the essential and ultimately cruel difference was undeniably apparent in their expressions.

He had been scared  _for_  her.  
She had been scared  _of_  him.

And now Liz was merely a few feet away, yet the distance between them was infinite. Memories kept them apart. She had sent him away. Out of her room. Her life.

His sins always came back to haunt him. Intentions never mattered.

He was back where he started. Alone. Solitude enlacing his weary bones. He had never grown accustomed to the feeling.

The world in front of him rested peacefully while he battled his own importunate demons. He needed to focus. Needed to strategize. Had to devise a scheme for the pursuit of the treacherous attacker. To catch him and to make him suffer and to put a bullet in his head. And then he would leave like he had intended.

She would be fine without him. Better off even. She was strong, resilient. A fighter. She would be fine.

He closed his eyes and let the cool wind wash over him. Allowed himself to reminisce. A criminal cuffed to a chair, a woman in a red dress, New York at night, a phone call, stories, innuendoes. Wistful looks in a warehouse on the edge of the city. Hearts beating. A medley of instants. The quintessence of existing.

Maybe the sound of his name on her lips was the only keepsake that would stay with him. Maybe that had to be enough for now.

And somehow it was.

He swallowed his last slug of whiskey, drowned his pain with it, fixed his tie and vest and stood up straight. Took a deep breath.

Once again he could feel the adrenaline emerge deep within him. Could feel it spread through his veins and cells. Vengeance had always been such a powerful drug.

In the break of dawn he could finally see clearly.

Raymond Reddington was on a hunt. Tom Keen was his target.

_Looking for a brighter day  
That is nowhere to be found_

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed someone stepping onto the wooden flooring, the boards creaking beneath the intruder's soles. He didn't turn around when Daniel joined him at the railing seconds later. They stood a moment in companionable silence before Red succumbed to his lingering inquisitiveness.

"How is she?" A trace of concern hovered over the innocent inquiry. Daniel noticed.

"Not too well. She suffered a severe panic attack. It complicates matters." Honesty.

"Can I see her?"

A brief pause. Anticipated repentance. "She, uhm, requested some privacy." He turned around to face Red before he continued in a hushed tone. "I'm sorry Raymond."

He readied himself for a reaction but to no avail. Red seemed completely lost in thought, staring blankly at nothing in particular, his lips a straight line and his eyes vacant.

"Ray, what is this between you two?" A daring attempt to understand human connection. He received nothing in return. Red merely flinched, as if he had just woken from a disturbing dream, and tilted his head.

"We've got work to do." And with that seemingly clear-cut instruction he went back inside, leaving Daniel and the tranquil morning atmosphere behind.

Perhaps he hadn't heard the question or perhaps he had ignored it altogether. Or perhaps he simply didn't have an answer.

_A man that can't find words to speak  
Is nowhere to be found_

When Daniel ascended the stairs to the upper floor hours later he could still hear Red and Kaplan discuss various surveillance strategies concerning a particular Tom Keen. The living room had been converted into a war room; documents and photographs were scattered across the floor and dinner table, files were stacked in the corner. The team had spent all day assembling intel and tracing Tom's whereabouts, and while they had managed to acquire useful information from a number of reliable sources they still didn't know if he had acted on his own account or if he had received orders from another entity.

Around 5 p.m. Daniel had excused himself to pay the patient a visit. Red had given his consent.

So he walked down the hall and came to a stop in front of Liz's door. He knocked once. Twice. Then she voiced her assent and he entered.

"Hello Ms. Keen. I don't mean to intrude but I'd like to do a quick check-up before it gets dark."

Liz nodded and Daniel stepped closer to the bed.

"How's the pain?"

"Bearable. Sleeping helps, I guess. I mean that's pretty much all I do." Her voice was raspy from lack of use.

"As you should. Sleep is the best remedy."

"That's what my dad used to say as well."

"Your father is a smart man then."

"He was...I mean he was a smart man. He passed away a few months ago." The words felt foreign on her lips now that she knew the truth.

"I'm terribly sorry, Ms. Keen. I didn't mean to-"

"You couldn't have known. And please call me Liz."

He offered her an apologetic smile and walked over to the window to grab one of the chairs leaning against the wall. Only then did Liz notice the large cart standing in the corner and she watched intently as Daniel calmly opened drawer after drawer, assembling bandages and equipment and a pair of gloves and setting it all down on a tray. For the first time she managed to really study her environment and was amazed by the technology surrounding her. Of course she had been aware of the monitors by her side but now in the revealing light of day it all seemed so strange and overwhelming, her own fragile body hooked up to machines, desperately trying to sustain a stream of life, a beating heart.

"Are you alright, Liz?" Daniel's worried voice interrupted her musings. "You look a little confused."

"No, I'm...I'm fine. Sorry. So what's going to happen now?"

"Well, I'm going to check your stitches and renew the bandages. Just standard procedure, really. Nothing to add to the pain." He put on the gloves and carefully adjusted the sheets covering her body-at no cost did he want her to feel exposed- and lifted the hem of her hospital gown.

"If anything makes you feel uncomfortable, if anything hurts, please let me know immediately."

"Okay," Liz murmured and she shifted her head on the pillow to catch a glimpse of the injury.

And then she saw it. The scar. The eternal mark her husband had left on her. Ruptured tissue to remind her she wasn't safe, that her marriage had been a lie. Liz forced herself to maintain a steady breathing pattern. In and out. In and out.  _Don't panic._  She leaned back and fixed her eyes on the window and the colorful evening sky outside.

With cautious motions Daniel examined the stitches, always concerned to not apply too much pressure, always aware of every potentially painful movement. By the time he had finished bandaging the scar and attuning the dosage of analgesics for the night, Liz was staring up at the ceiling, a pensive expression veiling her features.

"You're all set. That wasn't too bad, was it?" He hesitated and waited for a response, but Liz seemed preoccupied.

"Can I ask you something?" A reaction at last.

"Please."

"How did Red help you?" The ruminative lines on her face had changed into curiosity. Expectation maybe. He avoided her gaze. Framed his response.

"He  _assisted_  me in escaping the mistakes of my past."

"That's hardly an answer."

He laughed heartily and shook his head. "No, I suppose it isn't. But I'm going to leave it to Raymond to tell that story. He's a much better raconteur than I am."

Liz wanted to inquire further but Daniel beat her to it.

"He's a good man, you know. Raymond, he's...he's a good man."

Liz remained silent and studied Daniel's expression. He seemed sincere, earnest.

"I've known him for a long time and I know the world he's a part of. It's relentless and unforgiving. Cruel. But sometimes life doesn't offer us many choices and we have to walk down an undesired path to confront the demons that haunt us. We all seek redemption. We adapt in order to survive and we play the role the world has enforced upon us."

Daniel paused for a moment, picking his words with care. He was treading on thin ice.

"You should know one thing, Liz. No matter how unaffected Raymond might appear to you, no matter what his actions are, be aware that he bears his scars like the rest of us. He is simply more skilled at concealing them." With that ambiguous remark he circled the bed, checked the IV on her wrist and the monitor settings, and paced back towards the door.

"If you need anything, just press that little green button. I'm right down the hall." He closed the door behind him and Liz was left alone in the warm evening light. For once, it wasn't the wound that pained her.

_A farmer comes home one day to find that everything that gives meaning to his life is gone…_

_All my life I've tested truth  
But truth's not always sound_

A million thoughts were running through her head. A million incoherent images.

She tried to make sense of it, tried to get them in order. He had killed her father. She had sent him away and had faltered and had hoped for him to be on the other side of the door, despite all better judgment. She had  _hurt_ him. Kaplan had saved her. He had stayed by her side through it all. And she had witnessed him with his guard down. With the mask gone. Had noticed the way he was looking at her.

Liz closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.

In an instant it all made sense. The fleeting glances, the longing gazes, his hand that lingered a little too long at the small of her back, the comfort he offered, his curiosity, his physical closeness. The fact that he had traded his life for hers. That he would do so again and again. That he would leave if she asked him to. And that he would return if she was in danger.

She didn't dare to label it. But the comfort she felt at the thought frightened her.

Things weren't black and white, good and evil. There was no ultimate truth. There were merely fragments and layers and pieces and secrets that created an intricate reality.

Maybe the warm glint in his eyes was the only thing that was real. Maybe that had to be enough for now.

And somehow it was.  _Somehow it was._

_Words I should have said to you  
Are nowhere to be found_

Red found himself roaming around the house in the middle of the night-  _most of all I want to sleep_ \- when he heard a high-pitched scream.  _Liz_. He paced down the hallway towards her room and entered without a second thought.

He froze at the sight before him. She was shaking and wincing, beads of sweat on her forehead, her eyes closed. Those brutally familiar nightmares.

Red hastily approached the bed and grabbed her left shoulder, hoping she would wake at the touch and the sound of his voice.

Lizzie.  
_Lizzie._

It sufficed. Her eyes flew open and she stared back at him, bewildered, disoriented. It took her a moment to understand what had occurred. Red heaved a sigh of relief and took a step back.

She didn't say anything, but Red knew all the same she didn't want him anywhere near her. He was painfully aware.

"I should go," he finally declared and walked towards the door. As he reached for the knob Liz's trembling voice echoed through the darkness.

"Would you stay?"

He withdrew his hand. Stood still. Certain he must have misunderstood.

"If I asked you to…would you stay?"

He turned around, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Why?"  
"Red-"  
"Why, Lizzie?"

She knew the answer. Grasped its implications and consequences. The words dangled on the tip of her tongue and she could feel her heart throbbing and she realized she was alive and that  _he_  was responsible.

At last, an honest admission.

"Because hating you is exhausting."

 


	6. Closeness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars

" _You act like we're the same. You're wrong. I have a life, people who care about me. But you…This is all you have."_

_She's facing him, casually leaning against the headrest of the cream leather seat, awaiting his reaction._

_He takes his time. Watches her intently._

" _I have you."_

_And she leaves._

_Let me in the wall you've built around  
And we can light a match and burn it down_

_Okay._

It was that easy. For once.

Manifestations of concern, voices of better judgment emerged in the back of his mind but he had already closed the door behind him and cautiously approached the chair next to her bed. The truth was he had hoped for this and wished for this and had just now fully realized that he couldn't deny this woman anything. He'd be whatever she needed him to be. Small steps towards redemption.

As he sat down and turned on the petite wooden lamp on the nightstand he made sure to keep his distance; he was half expecting a change of heart any minute. Still, he didn't miss the hint of gratitude when her eyes hastily met his.

For a moment neither dared to make a sound. Red's gaze was fixed on the perpetual graphs on the monitor; Liz, however, studied him diffidently. He was still dressed in his usual attire, although his vest was unbuttoned and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. She wondered briefly if he ever wore anything beside a suit before she gathered the courage to speak.

"He shot me again." The remark caused Red to flinch. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"In my dream… Tom shot me over and over and I was on the floor and-" She paused abruptly when she noticed Red's pained expression and wondered if her words had done this to him. If her ordeal affected him this deeply. She let out a sheepish whisper. An attempt of comfort. "Thank you for staying."

Red turned his head and regarded her then. In the dim light her skin glimmered softly and he felt the urge to touch her, to run his fingers down her arm as he had done in the warehouse, but he thought better of it and kept his hands folded in his lap. Her earlier reaction upon his skin on hers daunted him. The fear in her eyes. So instead he held on to the fact that in this very moment she wanted him here. That she had sought his company.

"You're safe here, Lizzie. I promise." Red tried to speak in a confident tone, yet his voice trembled slightly as the rage inside of him intensified. The thought of Tom hurting her was unbearable; the thought of her continued suffering even more so. Nightmares were such insidious companions.

"Are you going to look for him?" Liz inquired.

He already was. He nodded.

"Are you going to kill him?"

Red opened his mouth to speak, somewhat taken aback by her straightforward manner, but Liz interrupted him before he could provide an answer.

"Why do you think he did it? Now, I mean? There must have been a reason he wanted to eliminate me  _now_. Something must have changed. He could have killed me after our fight in the living room. He could have-"

"Lizzie." Unconsciously he had leaned in and covered her hand with his. She didn't wince at the contact. It seemed to calm her.

"Lizzie, we don't have to talk about this now. Let's just focus on your recovery, okay?"

And with every reassuring syllable leaving his lips the wave of panic threatening to submerge her dissipated.

_You've held your head up  
You've fought the fight_

_A strange sensation of agony and numbness runs through her body. She feels vulnerable, unable to move, to escape. Her surroundings seem foreign and unsettling. She shouldn't be here._

_She notices someone kneeling in front of her, registers a slight pressure of a hand on her leg. Gentle, as if not to cause any more damage. Opening her eyes takes effort, but she manages._

_It's a kind face, a familiar one. The smile he offers is warm. Lights up his features._

_She's safe now._

_His soothing voice fills the room and washes over her. Creates a melody that lets her forget the pain._

_He rises to his feet and turns the wheelchair around. Takes her away._

_When he smoothes her hair, when he lets his hand linger, she closes her eyes again. Savors his touch._

_The numbness ceases. Comfort settles._

_Then he withdraws._

_You're like a mirror, reflecting me  
Takes one to know one, so take it from me_

Red glanced across the room and examined the elaborate medical set-up. A couple of months ago he had instructed Mr. Kaplan to acquire the necessary equipment for cases of emergency. He couldn't have known at the time that he would need it so soon.  _She_ shouldn't have been the one needing it so soon.

"Are you hurting?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine." She had hoped to sound more convincing, but her voice was strained, her body tense. And Red paid very close attention.

"What's wrong, Lizzie?"

She inhaled deeply. She had never easily admitted insecurities or weaknesses, hadn't allowed herself to break. But it was becoming such an arduous endeavor and she felt the walls around her crumbling to the ground. His presence the final trigger.

"I… I'm scared. I don't want to go back to sleep. I don't want to be alone."

"Lizzie, I'm not going anywhere. If you want me to stay, I'll stay. Okay?"

"Okay."

It was enough. Time passed on.

His right hand was resting near her wrist and every now and then he absentmindedly traced the outline of her scar and noticed her relax at his touch. She craved human contact, something to remind her that she had survived, the nearness of another beating heart; he seemed content simply listening to her steady breathing. So they bathed in their mutual silence, distant from the outside world and its struggles and pitfalls, indulging in the temporary peace the night offered.

_All your acting, your thin disguise  
All your perfectly delivered lies_

_Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong._

_The daunting footsteps echo off the walls like thunder and he wishes, he hopes his soaring apprehension is false. He needs it to be false._

_The shadows come nearer but the blood stains on the glass blur his vision and he squints his eyes to get a better look. Mere seconds turn into cruel eternities until finally, inevitably, all doubts vanish and his guard is down and fear rises up within him._

_Lizzie._

_He sees her clearly as Anslo pushes her to her knees and he turns around without calculating his options because there really is no choice to make, and he grabs Ressler's face, screams at him, slaps him and finally presses his thumb into his wound. The agent's eyes fly open and he stares back at Red in horror but now is not the time for apologies or explanations and Red doesn't care, he doesn't care about the pain he is causing him. The situation has changed; it is her life that's at stake now and that is simply non-negotiable. He hears Cooper's voice and looks at him in disdain when Liz's ringing phone breaks the tension momentarily. Red watches the scene unfold before him and cannot help but marvel at the sheer courage Liz is displaying. The resilience surrounding her._

_He realizes time is running out and Ressler could lose consciousness any second, so he grabs the gun and presses it against his temple- if you can't save her, you have no use whatsoever- and lets him know he's willing to take desperate measures._

_His shelter has become a prison. Ressler is his only way out._

_At last he surrenders the code and Red turns around and walks towards Anslo, spelling out the five letters, waiting for his cage to open. He meets Liz's eyes._

_She looks back at him in frightened bewilderment- no, he won't, he couldn't- he can't possibly put his life on the line for her. She witnesses something flash over his features, witnesses him being afraid, and still he doesn't retreat, his gaze remains completely fixed on her, and she understands then, grasps what he is trying to convey. A promise. Everything is going to be okay._

_And she hears the door unlock._

_You're just lonely  
You've been lonely, too long_

Lost deep in thought and reassessing the events of the night, Red was pulled out of his haze by Liz's hand on his arm. He tilted his head and smiled at her, not fully able to hide his exhaustion. He didn't know what time it was- around 3am, maybe- he was accustomed to sleep deprivation. She eyed him curiously.

„You would have left indefinitely?"

He was suddenly awake. Phrased his answer carefully.

"You asked me to."

"Why did you come back?"

"Lizzie-"

"Why did you come back, Red?" An inquiring whisper.

He hesitated. Pondered.  
Conceded.

"Because I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

The sincerity in his voice almost took her breath away. She didn't say anything. Words seemed so arbitrary. Instead her gaze wandered across his face and down his neck, along the tiny round scar and over his strong but slumped shoulders, to his hands on the side of the bed. For the first time she noticed the air of sadness encasing his body, an invisible burden, and she realized then that she no longer saw him as a criminal or a monster or a murderer. She saw him as a man broken by his past, someone who was hurting just as much as she was.  _He bears his scars like the rest of us. He is simply more skilled at concealing them._  She opened her mouth and finally uttered the only words that mattered.

"I don't hate you Red."

The sweetest of remedies, the most powerful of consolations. Every soft syllable mending his pain and granting him solace. A streak of light in the dark.

It happened slowly. Gradually. Red felt his hand move up to her face, felt his fingers hover over her soft skin, her hair, felt his pulse quicken. Felt himself move closer and closer until her breath caressed his cheek and he hesitated for a moment, took in every single detail, tried to savor the exact way she was looking at him now because it was so distinctly different, it was so  _warm_ , and he thought that if time stopped right this minute he wouldn't object.

And gently, almost timidly, he lowered his lips to hers.


	7. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: This Year's Love by David Gray

When she shut her eyes. That's when he knew.

When he was certain that drawn lines and constructed boundaries no longer mattered. Had all become obsolete.

The very moment his lips had grazed hers and she had tuned out the world around her. That's when everything changed.

He wasn't alone.

_When you hold me like you do_  
_It feels so right_  
_I start to forget_

He had been so close. He had never been  _this_ close.

The touch of his lips sent shivers through her every cell, overwhelming sensations, thunder and lightning. She let herself disappear, let herself forget the pain she was in, the events of the past hours, days, weeks.

Let herself  _feel_. Comfort. Passion. The way he sighed against her. That's when everything changed.

She wasn't alone.

_Open up my arms and fall_  
_Losing all control_  
_Every dream inside my soul_

He pulled away. After seconds that felt like lifetimes. Reluctantly.

It was so simple, yet infinitely intoxicating. This admission of trust. This act of condonation.

He remembered a quote he had once come across. The Love of the Last Tycoon, Fitzgerald.  _When I'm with you I don't breathe quite right_. He understood it now, this sentiment. Studied her wistful expression. Missed her kiss already. Her taste on his lips.

It was he who spoke first, who garnered the strength to interrupt their ephemeral placidity. His voice was low, calm. As unwavering as he could manage.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."  
"Red, don't-"  
"I'm sorry for a lot of things, Lizzie."

And he was. For putting her in danger. For turning her life upside down. For leaving her. Almost.

„I don't expect you to forgive me for my actions, but I need you to understand that I never intended to hurt you or to cause you harm. At the end of the day- no matter who I interact with or what deals I close or what journey I embark on- my ultimate incentive, my objective, has always been to keep you safe. And I understand how frustrating it must be for you, being deprived of explanations and connections. But I promise you, it will come. The rest will come. And I will do everything in my power to catch Tom and provide you with the answers you've been seeking."

He reached out and tugged a strand of loose hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary.

The words on the tip of his tongue were impelled by that very peculiar audacity those early morning hours imposed upon the human heart. When dream and reality melt into a hazy fusion clouding the mind and inhibitions transform into distracting trivialities. Things said and done seemed to exist without consequence.

And so he continued in a hushed tone, almost inaudible.

"You're everything to me, Lizzie."

_So who's to worry_  
_If our hearts get torn_  
_When that hurt gets thrown_

She expected fear or panic or general disconcertment. But nothing. None of that.

She experienced relief instead. Serenity. Warmth.

It had appeared as such an intimidating and frightening idea mere hours ago and now the certainty, the finality of it, had washed away all doubts. She was finally willing to label it.

_He loved her._

She seemed incapable of opening her mouth, of acknowledging the events that had transpired in these last minutes. Instead, her thumb softly brushed the back of his hand resting next to her waist and he looked at her tenderly before their fingers intertwined.

"I'm sorry to have startled you."  
"Red, that's enough apologizing for one night, don't you think?"  
He let out a huff of air and nodded. "I suppose it is."

_Don't you know this life goes on_  
_And won't you kiss me_  
_On that midnight street_

Despite dawn approaching steadily neither Red nor Liz felt the urge to go to sleep. They were tired, exhausted even, but both knew that nightmares would haunt them as soon as they closed their eyes.

"Do they ever stop?"

He regarded her questioningly.

"The nightmares, I mean."

"You get used to them. After a while they don't affect you as much. If you're lucky, they'll dissipate altogether."

"So what about you?"

"What about me, Lizzie?"

"Are you still scared of them?"

He pondered for a moment, revisited all those endless nights when he lay awake, deterred by the images that would emerge once he succumbed to his exhaustion. Mutilated bodies, a fire, piercing screams. Liz dead in his arms. A cold chill crept up his spine.

"Yes." He lowered his head to avoid her gaze.

She would blame it on her puzzled state of mind later. On her reticent vulnerability. On the distraught expression on his face. Carefully, she shifted to one side of the bed. The movement sent painful sensations through her body- the effect of the analgesics had ceased notably- and the IV needle in her wrist stung uncomfortably, but she didn't seem to mind. This was her choice. They both needed this.

"Red?" Her pleading voice caused him to look up. There was a distance between them now and it took him a moment to understand.

The abandoned part of the mattress. Liz watching him expectantly from the other end. Such kindness radiating from every little glance she would offer.

He got up from the chair and took off his vest and shoes and studied her features once more – _are you sure ?_ \- before he cautiously pulled back the duvet and lay down next to her. Not too close. He wouldn't allow himself to make presumptions.

A whisper caressed his ears. "Red, come here."

He moved closer and turned to face her, almost losing himself in the sight of her profile in the dim light.

Liz tilted her head towards him and a faint smile flickered over her lips.

It was palpable now, this tension between them. Intriguing. Overwhelming.

Mere inches apart when she spoke again.

"Thank you."  
"For what, Lizzie?"  
"Saving me."

Something inside of him came undone in that instant. He lifted his left hand to cup her cheek, let his thumb draw little circles near her temple, leaned over and finally closed the remaining gap between them.

It was more passionate this time. More natural. Deeper.

And as the morning sun drenched the walls in soft amber patterns the only sound filling the room was their slowed breathing.

Fast asleep.


	8. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: Break Your Heart by The Gaslight Anthem

So that really was the key. The closeness of her body.

He felt rejuvenated for the first time in years. That ever-present unwavering tiredness nowhere to be found; those nightmares absent. He wasn't familiar with this peaceful feeling. What a luxury.

She was still asleep. Her breathing calm. Like an ethereal vision. Except this was real and he reveled in it.

Sleep had lured them in quickly. The lamp on the nightstand was still flickering, though its efforts were futile against the garish sunlight pressing in through the drapes. Red reached for the switch and ended its struggles. The room seemed devoid of anguish or cruelty or injuries. A soothing tranquility echoed off the walls and Red wished they could stay like this forever, in this room, in this moment. He had never been one for wishful thinking, for impossible pleas. There was no time for it in his world. But maybe just this once...

He was shaken from his thoughts abruptly when he heard Liz inhale uncomfortably. Her eyes were open now, though the placidity had vanished from her features. She was wincing, trying to stay calm, but close to failing. A few tears were rolling down her cheek. The pain had made a sudden reappearance.

"Lizzie, sweetheart, look at me." Red turned on his side and gently smoothed her hair. "I'm gonna go get Daniel. I'll be right back." As he rose from the bed he felt a grip on his wrist.

"Don't leave, please."

"Lizzie, the analgesics have worn off. You need-"

"It's not the pain."

"Lizzie."

"It's just...I think I'm having another anxiety attack. I woke up with this panic stirring inside of me and I felt like I would...like I would drown. Please don't leave."

"Okay." He tried to appear as convincing as possible, but her reaction worried him deeply. He knew Daniel could help her, but he didn't dare leave her alone. Not with these pleading cadences in her voice.

The house lay eerily calm and Red wondered why no one had demanded his presence yet. They had to find Tom and they had to keep the FBI at bay and they had to be incredibly careful, but everything seemed so far away with Liz right next to him. She needed comfort and warmth and he was more than willing to provide it. He leaned back and moved closer, and his thumb began drawing irregular oval patterns up and down her arm- it had become an efficient remedy at this point. Gradually, her breathing calmed and the tension faded; they let the silence indulge them for a few brief moments. It was Liz who spoke first.

"Red?"

"What is it, Lizzie?"

"Where does Cooper think I am?" The question had been on her mind since she had woken from the surgery and she knew she had to face the consequences of the incident eventually. She had basically vanished and the task force must have been trying to trace her whereabouts. Most likely in vain.

"Chicago." He couldn't fully hide his amusement.

She eyed him questioningly, waiting for him to elaborate.

"You and I are currently on an assignment in Chicago. Chasing blacklisters, supposedly."

"And Cooper believes that?"

"Never doubt my powers of persuasion, Lizzie. I'm quite convincing. Surely you must have noticed that about me." A smile flashed over her lips and he realized how much he had missed to see her happy.

"It's all been taken care of, Lizzie. Don't worry about any of that. You know the Federal Bureau and I get along splendidly." Another smile, and seconds later Liz closed her eyes and once again drifted off to sleep.

Little patterns.  
Skin against skin.  
And finally distance.

Red took a last look at the dormant patient, breathing calmly now, all worries miles and miles away. Carefully, he shut the door behind him.

_There are things I have seen_   
_That I never will tell_

"So you found him?" Red and Mr. Kaplan were sitting across from each other at the living room table, stacks of files and folders between them.

"Yes. He's residing in a warehouse right off the 295."

"Any information on what he's up to?"

"Dear, I'm not an amateur. I have eyes on him, by tomorrow I shall have ears on him as well. I provide information- whatever you choose to do with my intel is your own choice and responsibility. If I may give you some advice, however-" Mr. Kaplan hastily adjusted her glasses, "include the girl in your decision-making this time. She's the one who was shot by her husband and is now resting upstairs, recovering from a life-threatening injury."

"I won't put her in any more danger."

"Don't underestimate her, Raymond. It would be an easy but fatal mistake to make." Her voice was calm, but drenched with authority. Like a mother speaking to a disobedient child.

"Whatever you're implying I don't think-"

"I've noticed the way you look at her, dear." She grabbed a folder off the table and handed it to Red, not elaborating on her previous statement. "I won't always be here to clean up your mess, Raymond."

A final didactic nod and Mr. Kaplan left Red to his own musings. Research was waiting. Choices had to be made.

_It would bring you to tears_   
_If you knew what I know_

Daniel was sitting at his desk facing the window when he heard Red enter. Those unmistakable footsteps. Determined, strong.

"How did the check-up go?"

Daniel shut his notebook and turned around.

"Her condition has improved considerably, Ray. I removed the IV as well as the drip. She should remain in bed for a few more days, but as of now I'm quite happy with her recovery. If we take the necessary precautions, it shouldn't take much longer."

"Thank you, Dan. That's all I needed to hear right now." As Red moved towards the door, Daniel's voice made him stop.

"You looked peaceful this morning, Ray."

"Pardon?"

"I entered Liz's room early this morning after knocking multiple times but not receiving an answer. I thought something was wrong so I opened the door. I saw you next to her. You looked peaceful."

Red paused for a moment before stepping closer and speaking in a hushed tone. "I don't deserve her, Dan."

"But you should allow yourself to be happy. Because you certainly deserve that."

_I have run so far_   
_That I've lost myself_

When Red had walked into her room, she had been relieved to see him. Then she had noticed the folder in his hand.

As he sat down next to her bed he didn't touch her. He had promised her answers. Now he was here to make good on that promise.

"Mr Kaplan put together a file on Tom."

"May I see it?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Red handed her the folder with a hint of reluctance and watched attentively as Liz skimmed through the documents and photos.

Her expression static.  
The mask of the profiler.

After minutes that seemed like hours, Liz closed the file and turned to look at him. Anyone else might have interpreted her reaction as unimpressed, apathetic even, but he knew better. He knew that she was putting up walls around her. Private barriers. Simple mechanisms of self-protection, self-preservation.  _She was strong, resilient. A fighter._

"So he acted on his own account?", she said finally.

"Yes."

"No orders? No Berlin?"

"I don't think so, Lizzie."

"Just hatred then? Revenge?"

"Lizzie-"

"My husband tried to kill me, Red. He wanted to murder me."

"I'm not going to let you do this to yourself, Lizzie." He reached for her hand but she flinched.

_The walls were crumbling._

"I have spent two years under the same roof with him. We were thinking about adopting a child."

_Fragment by fragment._

"What the hell is wrong with me? How did I never notice what kind of person he was? I thought you were crazy for suspecting him and... What does all this say about me, Red?"

_Breaking down._

"Lizzie, listen to me carefully. None of this was your fault." He reached for her again and this time she held on to him, gripping his hand tightly.

"I promise you that you will find happiness again. And Tom-"

"You've traced him?"

"Yes."

"So what now?"

He had had a plan. Find Tom Keen, make him talk, kill him.

But Mr. Kaplan was right. This was Liz's choice to make. And for the first time, because he trusted her to make the right call, because he loved her, he conceded.

"That is up to you, Lizzie."

_If you knew how I loved you_   
_If I showed you my scars_

She had told him they should wait. That she wanted to confront Tom herself.

He had agreed. Had told her to be patient. That recoveries took time. That they would keep watching Tom Keen closely and that they would react accordingly should circumstances change, should opportunities arise.

Seemingly out of nowhere she had asked him about clothing because she was tired of wearing the attire of the injured.

He had left her room and returned a few minutes later with some of his linen dress shirts, white and crisp, the soft fabric providing much needed comfort.

And now he was standing next to her bed, carefully helping her to sit upright, cautiously taking off the creased shirt she was wearing and putting one of his own over her shoulders.

An act of trust.

He buttoned the shirt slowly, skillfully, his eyes never leaving hers, his hands never touching her skin. There was something in the air, it might have been anticipation, it might have been something else, something they didn't dare to label, they couldn't be sure. The final button was so close now and his fingers grazed the bandages placed across her scar, accidentally yet intimately, instinctively tracing the marks she carried from the battle. _Be strong, saith my heart_. There were no boundaries left now, and whatever existed between them was aflame in a different light; there was no going back and neither retreated. So his fingers ghosted along the scarred flesh, flesh that seemed so familiar and yet so foreign, and she inhaled sharply. And he thought of Tom and how the supposed husband had done this to her and how he himself might have been able to prevent it. He thought of his own scars and the reason for them and how that very reason was right in front of him now _. I am a soldier_. And she looked so beautiful still, so alive. She had prevailed.  _I have seen worse sights than this_.

And he heard her whisper - _Red_ \- and he withdrew his hand -  _What are we doing?-_  that last button still undone -  _I don't know_ \- and he leaned forward and kissed her. Again. Silently promising that he wouldn't leave her, that she had him, no matter what. That he would always stay close, if she would allow it. That they would go through this together, as a team, as partners, as something more. And for the first time Liz fully and completely understood the intensity of his feelings and realized in that very moment that she was dangerously close to feeling the same way.

And it didn't scare her anymore.


	9. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: Keep Falling by Fink

Two weeks. It had been two weeks.

Two weeks ago Tom Keen had knocked on a door and shot his wife.

Two weeks ago Mr. Kaplan had found a lifeless body on the crimson wooden floor of an innocuous townhouse.

Two weeks ago a doctor had performed surgery in a warehouse.

Two weeks ago Raymond Reddington realized- not for the first time but with innermost intensity- that he could not bear the thought of losing Elizabeth Keen.

And now, as he lay beside her and watched the amber beam of the rising sun dance across her soft skin, he felt calm and content and,  _dare he say it_ , happy.

Maybe some things happened for a reason.

Maybe there was hope in tragedy.

_Wanna know what I'm thinking,  
Why I can't sleep at night_

Liz had finally been able to leave the bed a couple of days ago, under Daniel's watchful eyes and with Red's hand on her arm to steady her somewhat shaky movements. Being basically tied to a bed had been a challenge, especially for an FBI agent who valued her mobility and independence above most other things. The pain had almost ceased completely, though the scar tissue was still delicate and every now and then a painful stinging sensation would remind her just how severe her injury had been and how lucky she was to still be alive now.

But what had surprised Liz the most was this air of domesticity she soon found herself in. She and Red would usually have breakfast together while he read through the papers or consulted with business partners over the phone; afterwards Daniel would proceed with his daily check-up (Daniel had removed most of the medical equipment from her room but still insisted on checking her condition, even if it was more of a precaution than a necessity-he wasn't willing to take any risks and he knew Red was deeply thankful for that); in the evening, depending on how tired Liz felt, she would rest next to Red on the couch, head on his shoulder, while he told her stories of his many travels  _("If you haven't tried fresh Rendang in the streets of Jakarta, you haven't lived life to its fullest"_ ) and botched business transactions ( _"Never forget to read the small print. I learned that the hard way"_ ) before she would eventually drift off to sleep and wake up the next morning in her own bed. And sometimes Red would be there, too, making sure she was comfortable. Making sure she was safe.

They never talked about their relationship. Love was such an arbitrary term, too soft for what they shared, this bond, this connection, this  _thing_  that defied labeling. But it was palpable and strong and present.

She had learned a lot about him during their time together. He was a surprisingly talented cook ( _"I hate pancakes"- "No Lizzie, you hated your husband's pancakes"_ ), he virtually never dressed in anything but a suit, he barely slept, he had a passion for early Frank Sinatra records and poetry by Walt Whitman.  _So this is what it would be like_ , Liz caught herself thinking sometimes,  _a life with Raymond Reddington._

It fascinated her how he switched personas depending on who he was addressing. How there were different Raymond Reddington types and she often wondered which one was really him and what his name would be. Red, Ray, Raymond. He remained an enigma, a puzzle she had yet to solve. Every new impression of him, every new bit of information acting as another piece.

She understood now that loyalty was essential to him. He kept certain people close- Dembe, Mr. Kaplan, Daniel, herself- and others at a carefully gauged distance. The profiler in her would have diagnosed him with trust issues, yet that sort of caution was most certainly part of his job and Red must have had good reasons to not believe anything he hears, to not jump to conclusions. Matters were rarely that simple.

She didn't miss the FBI as much as she thought she would, in fact, she enjoyed this temporary if at first involuntary break. Dembe had gotten her clothes from her apartment, as well as some of the files concerning Tom and Berlin, and she and Red had basically continued their investigation, simply in a more private setting. The FBI hadn't contacted her and she knew Red had something to do with that, but after he had told her about their fictitious Chicago expedition she hadn't bothered to ask again. The truth was the post office seemed completely out of reach, a day's journey away, while she savored the view over the woods surrounding the house, almost convincing her she was in another state altogether. Vermont maybe, or New Hampshire. A place where she had no reason to be afraid of her murderous husband.

_I see you carefully treading on the fire  
I already put out_

" _Hello Agent Ressler."_

_There it was, that unmistakable voice. He's been trying to get a hold of him for days now. But of course he only speaks to Elizabeth Keen and of course he can't be reached unless he wants to be reached._

" _Reddington, where the hell are you? Where is Keen? I know the two of you aren't in Chicago."_

" _Donald, do you remember that fateful day at the post office when you and I spent a delightful couple of hours in that homely box?"_

_He remembers. How could he ever forget. The Concierge of Crime saved his life that day. He remains silent._

" _I thought you might. Well, an opportunity has arisen and now you're going to have the unique chance to repay the favor."_

" _I don't partake in your games, Reddington."_

" _It's about Agent Keen." His voice is suddenly serious. Stern._

" _What do you want?"_

" _She was shot and needs to be taken care of."_

" _And I'm assuming I'm supposed to believe you?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Tell me what happened."_

" _That's confidential."_

" _You can't seriously expect me to-"_

" _Donald, listen carefully. Agent Keen is in danger and needs medical care."_

" _Why don't you take her to a hospital?"_

" _Donald, we both know that wouldn't be safe for anyone involved."_

" _So what do you want from me?"_

" _I need you to cover this up and frankly I don't care how you do it. Tell Harold whatever he wants to hear. Agent Keen won't be back for some time."_

_It's a preposterous request and Ressler knows it. He hesitates, analyzes._

_Red's voice left no room for interpretation. This isn't a game; this isn't business either. This is personal._

_He still hasn't responded when Red speaks again._

" _She's in serious danger, Donald."_

" _Can you protect her?"_

" _Donald I may be the only one in the wor-"_

" _None of that. Can you protect her?"_

_His response follows quickly and dissipates all doubts._

" _Yes."_

_Another pause, then finally a decision._

" _I expect updates Reddington. And I want you to know that I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for Keen."_

_But by the time he finishes the last sentence Red has already hung up the phone._

_Meet me back at the start  
Back at the part where we know how it ends_

Red was in the middle of preparing breakfast when Liz joined him in the kitchen. Whatever he was cooking smelled divine and Liz watched him for a moment, captivated by the serenity that emanated from him, before she sat down at the kitchen table.

"What's on the menu this morning?" she asked curiously.

"French toast with homemade caramel sauce and fresh strawberries."

"How did you manage to get fresh strawberries during this time of year?"

"I don't cook and tell, Lizzie," he responded with a light chuckle. Then he took a plate out of the cabinet above his head, placed the toast in the middle before sprinkling some sauce over it and handed it to Liz. "Enjoy, sweetheart."

With a faint expectant glint in her eyes Liz reached for the fork and took a small bite, and Red indulged in the look of sheer delight that crossed Liz's face.

"Red, this is amazing."

"My own recipe."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"Oh Lizzie, you shouldn't underestimate my abilities. I'm a man of singular talents."

Red walked over to the table and sat down across from her, and was just about to elaborate when Daniel entered the room, holding a briefcase and his lab coat in his right hand.

"Morning, you two. I was just dropping in to wish you a nice day since I have to go back to the warehouse. My desk is still covered in paperwork I should take care of. Funny how one can never escape bureaucratic matters, even if the work one does is technically off the records. But anyways, I should be back tonight." He paused for a brief moment before he turned to Liz. "Will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine, Daniel," Liz responded with an assuring nod.

"Fantastic. I'll leave you to it then. Goodbye."

_I've been on the wrong side for so long  
That it feels right now, it feels right_

As promised, Mr. Kaplan had managed to install both cameras and wiretaps near the warehouse where Tom was residing and Liz and Red were eager to track his every move. They weren't sure what he was up to or if he was convinced that Liz was no longer alive, but for now his actions, his daily routine, seemed almost harmless. They could have attacked him at any moment, but that wasn't the plan they had agreed on. They would be patient and wait for Liz to fully recover. They would make no mistakes this time.

Liz had spent the afternoon in her room, battling the fatigue that overcame her sometimes. She still had troubles with panic attacks, though she had become skilled at dissimulating any indications- usually she simply told Red she was exhausted, needed some time to herself, and he understood. There was no need to worry him any further.

She got up slowly to not cause any pain, grabbed her black cardigan off the headboard and left the room. As she stepped out in the hallway she noticed that the door to Red's room was left ajar and a soft glow of light eluded through the opening. Carefully, she moved forward and pushed the door open.

There he was. With his back towards her. His shirt hanging loosely over his shoulders.

He mustn't have heard her. He didn't turn around.

He took off his shirt and Liz saw it then, his back, and the marred skin, and the scars.

And she must have taken a step forward, for whatever reason, maybe to get a better look, she wasn't sure, it was all a matter of intuition at this point, and she couldn't think clearly and  _what the hell was wrong with his back_?

And the wooden floor creaked when her weight shifted and he turned around at once and he looked surprised, startled, shocked even, and he put his shirt back on and tried to speak, but what was there to say at this point, how could he explain this to her  _now_?

Yet somehow he managed to form the words-  _"Lizzie, you shouldn't be here"_ \- and she took another step forward-  _"What's wrong with your back?"_ \- and he retreated and hesitated and she asked again-  _"Red, what happened to your back?"_

This wasn't supposed to happen. Why hadn't he been more careful?

But there was no choice now.

He took a deep breath, asked her to sit down, asked her to listen.

And he told her.

About the fire. How a plan had gone horribly wrong, how a little girl was still in the house, how he had heard her screams and pulled her from the flames. How he had brought her to a friend who he trusted. How that friend had taken care of her. And how years later that girl had become an FBI agent who was introduced to  _Number Four_  on the FBI's Most Wanted List.

He left out some details. He had to. She wouldn't be safe otherwise. Maybe he wouldn't be, either.

She listened attentively with no visible reaction or emotion and that scared Red the most. And when he was finished, when the silence dragged on between them, she turned around without looking back. Left him standing there. With fresh scars.

What now?

_Keep falling  
Until you can't fall no more_

So that was it. Their connection. The history they shared.

Liz was sitting on the edge of her bed, trying to calm her breathing, trying to make sense of whatever had just occurred. An hour must have passed. Maybe two.

Gingerly, she traced the scar on her wrist, then on her stomach. These resilient souvenirs reminding her that in the face of danger, of pain, of unpredictability she had prevailed and come out stronger on the other end.

Did it change anything, his admission? Did it affect the way she felt? Wasn't this the honesty, the transparency she had longed for?

He had saved her.  _He had saved her_. And she liked to believe that somehow- by trusting him, by accompanying him, by staying with him- she had saved him, too.

It felt like a déjà vu now, getting up, crossing the threshold, walking down the hallway towards his room. Opening his door for the second time that night. Darkness.

_Then you will know about me,  
You'll know about me_

He felt her presence in the room before he opened his eyes.

Her insecure, timid footsteps. Her inner turmoil. The mattress dipping lightly. Her body next to his.

Even in the dark her eyes gleamed. She was looking right back at him now and her thumb ghosted along his cropped hair over his cheekbone down to his neck. He could barely breathe.

These tender actions of reassurance. The night keeping them safe.

Nighttime. When they were both at their most honest, their most sincere. Hadn't it always been like this? Hadn't it all led to this? All the crossed lines and confessed secrets and violent scars? All the acrimonious contentions and playful innuendoes? All the meaningful looks? The words unspoken?

He closed his eyes, certain he must be dreaming, and only opened them when he could feel her sigh against him. A kiss on the corner of his lips.

She moved down to his jaw and her hands lifted his shirt and traveled over his back, his revelatory back, ( _it's okay_ , she whispered,  _we're okay_ ) and they were so close now that no secrets could subsist between them anymore, that no lines were left, that nothing else mattered but their mingling breaths in the silence of the room.

Both painfully aware that they were losing themselves in the feeling.

Both completely and utterly willing to take that risk.

_It ends alright now,  
It ends alright_

Daniel locked up the warehouse and was on the way to his car when he heard footsteps approach behind him. Then, cold metal against the back of his head.

"Good evening, Dr. Albright. I believe you performed surgery on my wife not too long ago?"


	10. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an older fic of mine that I published on ff.net after the S1 finale but I thought I should make it available here as well since it's still being updated. It's set post- 1x20, after Liz confronts Red about Sam's death, and builds its own storyline from there. I'll upload two chapters a day (there are eleven chapters so far). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: At Night by St Augustine

_I still wake at night  
_ _Just to hear your fine breath in the dark_

It was early.

Still early in the morning, the moon not surrendering to the sun quite yet, that time of day when the world just existed for the sake of it, somewhere between tranquility and steadiness and indifference. When he could pretend so fervently, so willingly, that his mind was at peace.

He was lying on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, tracing some imaginary patterns. The room was perfectly calm, except for the assuasive steady breaths that gently caressed his right arm. She was still fast asleep. He faintly shook his head in disbelief.

He was stunned when she had entered his room mere hours before. Virtually paralyzed when she touched his skin. When she lent comfort to scars that couldn't be healed, when she granted him forgiveness.

Their bodies had fit together so perfectly. As if they were made for each other, as if life had shaped them in accordance with the other's pain and struggles. The sensitive spots,  _her_  sensitive spots, he had discovered them quickly and memorized them almost strategically. He wanted to show her everything he could do, the desire and passion he had stored up deep within him, that was caused by her, that carried her name. The way she had looked at him then, at that moment of ultimate closeness, was divine. After all, absolution.

To have her here, next to him, could never have been a realistic expectation. A dream, yes, a lingering yearning even, but never something in the realm of possibility. Raymond Reddington never dealt in irrationalities or hypotheses. He calculated, extrapolated, he closed deals like skillful businessmen do- pragmatically.

But this was different. Almost blinded by rage, striving for retaliation- yes, a part of him still felt these things, still wanted these things, demanded closure by putting a bullet into Tom Keen's head without thinking about it twice. And yet he simply couldn't go through with it.

Instead he lay awake staring at the ceiling. Instead he had trusted her to make the right choices. Because it has always been about her. Because the Concierge of Crime was at Elizabeth Keen's mercy.

He had virtually abandoned his wide array of contacts over these past two weeks just to stay close to her and make sure she'd be recovering quickly and be safe. More than anything else,  _be safe_.

His priorities had shifted rapidly ever since he saw her descend the stairs at the post office. These things happen, simple as that, but he was well aware that a connection like theirs was precious and delicate and rare. He blamed the fire. Some bonds remain irrevocable. Indestructible.  _We're stuck with each other._

Betrayal, deception, sacrifice- all these things paved his path with such pertinaciousness. He had never wanted to involve her in all of this which of course sounded paradoxical given the way he had entered her life in the first place. He had wanted to show her what she could be capable of, that she was bound for greatness somewhere beyond an FBI desk,  _I'm gonna make you famous_  and he had arranged it so perfectly, but of course plans fail, no matter how meticulously laid out they might have been. He had introduced her to a darkness he could no longer shield her from. Bullets entering bodies. Life was so cruel sometimes.

The light sensation on his arm had ceased. Liz had shifted ever so slightly, but enough to break their frail contact. He turned to face her then, to get a better look at her sleeping form and the loose strands of hair elegantly framing her face and he tugged one behind her ear, carefully not to wake her and rob her of this temporary quiescence. Maybe it could last forever, this one perfect moment, both of them side by side in their own carefully crafted sphere. He was so tired. Tired of running and hiding and immunity deals. The FBI could never protect him, no, they knew too little and he had always taken care of himself and quite successfully so. All these documents and contracts were a mere charade but certainly practical, he couldn't deny that, the resources they granted him, the law on their side. Still, the truth was he could disappear off the face of the earth immediately if he was so inclined. And he liked to keep it that way. The luxury of options.

And now Lizzie.  _Lizzie_. He felt such rare contentment just being close to her. She kept him grounded, focused. Human.

Tentatively, he moved closer and gently pressed his lips to hers.

_Now I know it's not fair  
_ _I do believe that I care for your life more than for the rest of humankind_

The coffee was stronger than she was used to, a rich and faintly sweet blend that instantly woke her senses. It reminded her of Red. It tasted like him.

His kind gaze was the first thing she had seen this morning. There was a tingle on her lips when she opened her eyes; he might have kissed her only seconds before, she wasn't sure, but found herself smiling at the thought. It still amazed her, this combination of gentleness and determination that defined him, and the security he could provide for her in the most unconventional sense. Theirs wasn't a relationship restricted by norms. It was more complicated than that, this deeply intimate understanding, this utter willingness to suffer for the sake of the other. Why give it a name?

"How's the coffee?" he asked as he entered the kitchen in a navy three-piece suit, his vest still unbuttoned and his silk pin dot tie hanging loosely around his neck.

"Efficient," she replied with a smile. "Not for the faint of heart."

"Lizzie, I firmly stand by the belief that life is too short for bad coffee." He had always been a man of convictions. Slowly he crossed the room towards the counter.

He watched her with an amused expression as she took another sip and grimaced, and as she handed him the cup their fingers brushed almost imperceptibly and he wondered if there would ever come a time when her touch wouldn't dismantle him in an instant, wouldn't ignite a fire he couldn't stop from spreading.

"Will you have breakfast with me?"

He felt the bitter liquid run down his throat. "Unfortunately I can't. I have some business to attend to. Dembe will be joining me, but Mr. Kaplan will be here to keep you company and Daniel should be back soon. I'm guessing he's still working."

"How long will you be gone?

"Until tonight. But I have personally made sure that all security measures are intact and working properly."

"So Mr. Kaplan and I can proceed with the investigation then."

"I would try to persuade you to rest instead, but-"

"I've rested for two weeks, Red. I'm still an agent, remember? I'll be fine."

"I have no doubt, Lizzie. Enjoy your day."

_I turn in bed, I shiver then I smile  
_ _When I think of all the courage that you hide_

"Any new findings?" Liz noticed Mr. Kaplan examining a stack of photos as she entered the living room.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. No suspicious behavior whatsoever." She didn't look up from the files as Liz sat down across from her.

"He's just spending time at the warehouse?" Liz reached for the photos and flinched as the cold eyes of her former husband stared back at her. It seemed absurd now how she could ever have trusted him, how she could have detected warmth and affection in his expression. But love is a skilled imposter and Tom Keen had been  _so good_  at this. They had been such a perfect match. She should have known better.

"Yes, talking to contacts, mostly. No mention of either your or Raymond's name. He left the warehouse last night but came back about two hours later, seemingly unchanged. I'm trying to find out if there's anything in development we should be worried about."

Liz put the photo back on top of the others, her hand shaking slightly.

"Are you alright, dearie?" Mr. Kaplan observed her intently. "You look a little distraught."

"No, I'm…I'm fine. Just tired. I think I'm gonna go lie down for a bit." Panic, she could feel it. Fear rushing forward, overwhelming her slowly but surely.  _Dammit. "_ Thank you, Mr. Kaplan. For everything."

"Don't mention it, dearie. I've grown quite fond of you. And so has Raymond." With those last words she offered Liz one of those incredibly rare knowing smiles, before she once again turned her focus to the data in front of her.

_And if I had to choose right now  
_ _I'd pick your life over mine_

As nighttime settled over Washington Liz found herself outside on the terrace, dressed comfortably in an over-sized wool cardigan and fleece sweats she had found in her room, breathing in that particularly icy air one never got to experience while living in the city. The panic attack had come and gone rather swiftly, but she was grateful Red hadn't be there to witness it. She didn't want to appear weak in front of him and she detested the fact that a picture of Tom Keen still had such an effect on her, could still trigger that kind of reaction. How was she supposed to face him without faltering, without reliving the physical and emotional pain he had caused her? The trauma and scars he had burdened her with?

Yes, her body still hurt with every move she made. And that was normal, that was part of the process, Daniel had assured her so many times, but she had never been the patient type and she wanted it gone, the constant stinging and discomfort, she wanted it  _gone_. She felt footsteps behind her then and a blanket being put around her shoulders. Fingers lingering at the nape of her neck. A kiss near her temple as he joined her at the railing.

"You'll catch cold."  
"You're back."  
"I am."  
"Successful day?"  
"Barely."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't be."

Their training betrayed them sometimes. These investigative tones, unintentional yet a difficult habit to break, because precision was always of the essence, because they were used to the quick exchange of concise information. She didn't mind and neither did he. There was a time and place for eloquent declarations, and Liz knew he harbored a certain propensity for semantics, but oftentimes these little gestures were enough. Blankets to keep her warm.

He shifted a little and moved closer until their breaths mingled and danced in the evening air and slowly he closed the gap and kissed her. He could do these things now, could savor them in its purest form and enjoy them without regret. Could move his hands up her arms and neck to cup her face and close his eyes and be sure she wouldn't disappear. That sweet taste of trust on his lips. That sudden void when they broke apart.

"Have you spoken to Daniel?" she asked him softly.  
"I thought he was with you."  
"He isn't."

And in that very instant a phone started ringing and Red reached into his pocket to grab it and froze when he recognized the voice addressing him and as he stood there still trying to assess the situation, to make sense of it, Mr. Kaplan paced towards him-  _the feeds got intercepted_ \- and a spiteful laugh reverberated in his ear-  _any last words, Mr. Albright?_ \- and he looked at Liz in shock but she didn't understand, couldn't be sure, and Red pleaded-  _Tom, don't_ \- and then he heard a gun shot.

The phone dropped to the ground.

Then, silence.


	11. Yearning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are all caught up, folks. Thanks for reading -I'm gonna try to update asap. Until then, check out my other stories if you feel so inclined. 
> 
> Lyrics used in this chapter: You by Keaton Henson

_If you must leave,  
_ _Leave as though fire burns under your feet_

She noticed it immediately.

How something inside of him snapped, how his eyes turned dark, how all the hope vanished from his features and how desperation and hatred took its place.

She noticed it, witnessed it while panic loomed within her. And she couldn't do a thing to stop it.

Red stormed inside while the phone lay abandoned on the floor, ordered for a car and prepared to leave the cabin right away. To hunt Tom down, that's what Liz presumed, but he never explained.

And when his hand grabbed the gun off the table, when he reached for the door handle, when all seemed lost, that's when he heard a thud.

When he turned around he saw Liz lying on the floor. Completely still.

_If you must mourn, my love  
_ _Mourn with the moon and the stars up above_

She wasn't alone. With her eyes still closed, she could hear the rustling of papers and someone sighing deeply. A soft blanket covered her body, granted her the illusion of safety, and despite the tension in her neck she felt surprisingly rested. Opening her eyes took more effort than she anticipated, but when she finally managed, when her surroundings came into focus, she spotted Red sitting in a chair by her side and Tom's file scattered next to her legs. He seemed preoccupied with the documents in front of him, completely unaware of Liz's gaze studying his profile. He looked tired, exhausted even, and that deep lingering sadness that he had rarely allowed to emerge to the surface was clearly visible now. She wondered how much loss a person could endure. She wondered if she was strong enough to save him. He looked so broken.

"We have to stop meeting like this," she said softly and Red looked up to find her smiling at him. There was such comfort in her mere presence, such consolation.

"Lizzie." Her name leaving his lips was all relief and warmth. He gathered the papers and put them on the floor, focusing his attention on her. "You scared me earlier."

"I have no recollection of what happened."

"You fainted as I was about to leave."

"To kill Tom?"

He said nothing. Instead he moved closer to the bed, a desperate urge to touch her suddenly overcoming him, and gently tugged some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

He had forgotten about Tom the instant he saw her body on the floor. Dembe and Mr Kaplan had helped him to carry her upstairs, make sure she was alright, and while they tried to figure out what exactly had taken place earlier and how they could have missed Tom's intentions and Daniel's kidnapping, Red had stayed by Liz's side. Had watched her steady breathing. Held her hand for a while, before his unrest grew more intense and he had to turn to Tom's file for distraction.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"No Lizzie, you're fine. These things happen, especially after long recoveries."

But that wasn't the question that truly worried her. It was something else entirely.

"So if I hadn't fainted, you would have gone after him?"

He hesitated for just a moment, then nodded determinedly. The truth was, however, that he couldn't stand the thought of Liz seeing the person he was capable of becoming. A person dictated by rage and vengeance, relentless and unforgiving. It had been a reflex almost, an attempt to escape, the way he had rushed past her before she could catch a glimpse of the malice in his expression. He would never let her see him like this. He couldn't forgive himself for scaring her. Chasing Tom, putting an end to all of this, finding Daniel, saving him, holding on to the mere possibility of him being alive, of Tom tricking him, it was taking its toll and cruelly so. But losing Lizzie, losing her trust, losing her  _light_ , well, that would destroy him irrevocably.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he felt her fingertips ghost along the back of his hand. "The phone call," she inquired. "You think Tom killed Daniel?"

"I don't know. He certainly wants me to believe that."

She remained silent for a few moments, allowed him some space. He was struggling, she could tell, and he would never want her to take any risks. Not for him. But what he didn't understand was that she had made her decision long ago. She would stay with him, be with him. And help him to eliminate Tom.

"I'm coming with you."

"I can't allow that, Lizzie."

"I know you, Red, and I know you won't wait any longer. I'm surprised you're still sitting here, to tell you the truth. But whatever you say, I am coming with you."

And it was then that he reached out for her. He ran his hand up her arm, cupped her cheek. With demons in his eyes, an amalgamation of impossible anguish and despair, something she had never seen in him, something that made her stop breathing, with a burden that seemed to crush him, he leaned in and kissed her. Sweetness and tenderness and nothing else. And she wanted to scream at him-  _this is who you are, Red_ \- and make him come to terms with it-  _you are not a bad man_ \- but all she could do was savor it and hold on to him and drink him in. When he pulled away, she could hardly stand it. His voice ignited an ache within her.

"Lizzie, listen to me. I wreak havoc wherever I go. I destroy the people around me, pull them down, tear them apart. I won't do this to you any longer. Don't you see? I will burn you."

She had expected this, had prepared herself for it. But she wouldn't make it that easy for him.

"Red, we have walked through fire and made it out alive." She paused and turned his head towards her, leaving him no choice but to look at her. "Listen to me. I am not going to let you do this to yourself. This is not your battle. We are in this together, okay? Do you hear that, Red? We are in this together. And we will find him."

"I am not going to put you in any more danger."

"And I'm not going to let you leave by yourself. You're all I have, Red. We are stuck with each other, don't you know that?" A wistful sigh escaped him and she knew she had succeeded. And when she repeated them back to him, those fateful words,  _we're gonna make a great team_ , he could only accept her proposition.

"Come to bed," she told him.

As he got up from the chair and walked towards the door, he turned around once more. "I will be right back," he said. "I promise."

_If you must fight,  
_ _Fight with yourself and your thoughts in the night_

Liz was half asleep when she heard him enter her room a few minutes later. She listened to his footsteps as he approached the bed tentatively, could feel the heat of his body as he lay down next to her. She moved closer, waited for his reaction, but sensed how he was caught up in his own thoughts.

"You can still turn back from this, Lizzie." A whisper in the dark, a final attempt to make her change her mind.

"I know. But I don't intend to." He still hadn't touched her. "Red, what happens when all of this is over?"

"That's your choice, Lizzie."

"I don't think I can go back to how things were. The task force, the FBI. I want-"

"What, Lizzie? What do you want?"

And then he felt it. Her hand reaching for his, their fingers intertwined. Her soft lips, all promise and confirmation, all desire and trust and, dare he say it, love.

"You. I want you."


	12. Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, though there might be an epilogue. Remember, this fic was started at the end of S1 so it's pretty AU. Thanks for reading this and all of my other stories as well. Enjoy!
> 
> Lyrics: Only Love by Mumford & Sons

She was perfectly still.

Eyes wide open, muscles tensed, breathing steadily, in and out, in and out, one, two.

There was something cold in her right hand, cold and metallic and heavy, she was clinging to it, perhaps just a bit too much, her white knuckles in pale contrast to its black shell, and she could hear a voice, someone was shouting her name in the distance and she, well, tried to move, but couldn't.

She was perfectly still.

And Tom Keen's dead body was lying right in front of her.

_I hunger and I thirst  
_ _For some shiver_

-Earlier-

She felt cold.

It was dark still, early before sunrise, and she turned to look for him, to look  _at_  him, but nothing. The bed was empty.

She didn't want to finish her thought, she didn't want to believe any of the insidious suspicions her mind could produce, because he wouldn't have left without her, he had made a promise and she had to hold on to these small truths. If she closed her eyes just for a moment surely she would wake up to his arm around her waist, and then she heard it, footsteps coming closer, the door opening slowly, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

He moved over to the bed as quietly as he could manage and as he noticed her stare at him he kissed her and pulled the duvet over the two of them.

"Go back to sleep, Lizzie."

"Are you alright?"

"I just needed a glass of water. I'm fine."

"And you wouldn't leave without me, right?"

"No Lizzie, I promise. Now go back to sleep."

_For some whispered words  
_ _And the promise to come_

They would leave at dawn.

Their strategy was mapped out in full detail, everyone's roles clearly defined. Surround the warehouse, close off all escape routes, ambush. Extract Tom Keen, demand answers. Show no mercy. They had gone over it multiple times because they knew they would only get one shot at this, and Red was still clinging to the idea that Tom hadn't shot Daniel after all. That it had been a trap, a cruel maneuver. He had to believe in it. He had to believe in something.

And then Lizzie. Her willingness to accompany him, regardless of dangers or trauma. Her willingness to fight by his side. He worried constantly, wished she had changed her mind, but the bigger part of him was in awe of her, completely and utterly in awe of her strength, her resilience. Her love for him. He wished for it all to be over. He wanted to lead her away from this life before it could break her. He longed for some kind of normalcy and ordinariness where there had never been any. He wanted to impress her, to cherish her, to watch her wake up next to him every morning. He wanted the luxury to stay in bed when she asked him to. He wanted to make himself believe that he was deserving of her company and that maybe, just maybe, she needed him as much as he needed her. Now, as they were both sitting in the backseat of an inconspicuous white van headed for the 295 freeway, he didn't know how to let go of her hand. He just hoped that they would be able to sleep in peace tonight.

_And you saw me low  
_ _Alone again_

The warehouse looked as generic as any. Dembe had parked the van around the corner and brought himself into position; meanwhile Red and Liz slowly approached the gate they had identified from Mr. Kaplan's surveillance. The street was completely deserted and scantily lit, granting them some safety. As Red pulled out his tools to pick the lock he noticed that there was no need- the door was already ajar. With his gun drawn he carefully pushed it open while Liz followed closely behind him, flashlight tightly grasped and guiding them through the darkness.

The room was bigger than they had expected, certainly bigger than one would have assumed by looking at the run-down exterior, but still easy to take in with a single glance. Liz found a light switch on the wall and suddenly they were drenched in a fluorescent glimmer, the ceiling abuzz with neon tubes.

He wasn't here. Tom wasn't here.

What caught their attention instead was the sight in front of them. Photos, memos, graphs, maps- all creating an intricate display, an outline of his research, a grand scheme.

"I'll get Dembe so he can help us take it all down," she told him as she stepped away from it, he couldn't even stop her, she was out of the door before he could tell her to be careful.

And as he turned back towards the wall, as he tried to make sense of it, he heard someone enter behind him and he knew then in that very instant that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Reddington, what a pleasure."

Tom's voice was cold and calculated and full of malice. "Drop the gun and turn around."

_And I rage and I rage  
_ _But perhaps I will come of age_

She heard someone talk and almost stopped breathing.

He had Red.  _He had Red._

She had told Dembe to secure the area and then come into the warehouse to gather their evidence, and now, as he was walking towards her, towards her spot near the door, she put her hand up and he stopped. For the first time she witnessed fear flicker across his face. He understood.

Focus. She needed to focus. She needed to act.

_How is this all gonna end?_

She still had her weapon.

_This is an end_ _._

She knew what to do.

_And then something new will begin._

Carefully she leaned in closer, her back flush against the wall, her mind intent on trying to picture what was happening inside.

She listened to him. She listened to every word. How he had been fully aware of the cameras they had installed, the wiretaps, how it had allowed him to appear as inconspicuous as possible, calculate what he wanted them to see, take his time and wait for a reaction. How he had found Daniel, how he had used him as bait to get to Red. How it had worked because Red was a man who valued loyalty above all else. How he had finally realized that the best way to destroy her was through him. Through capturing him. Through hurting him.

And then something inside her went numb. Whatever she had once felt for him, whatever compassion there was left, it all turned black. She would not let him speak for another second, she would not let him kill the man she loved. The man who had saved her over and over again. It was her turn now.

With a determination she had never experienced before, something deep, something resolute, a gun in her hand, she stepped into the room, watched Tom turn quickly at the noise, saw his shocked expression, how he opened his mouth to explain, to apologize, to beg, but it didn't matter, he didn't matter, he had shot her and he would do it again, she was sure of that, he had wanted her dead and had almost gotten his wish, and now Red, but not tonight, not this time, she was in control, she could put an end to all of this.

_I'm not gonna let anything happen to you._

And then she pulled the trigger.

_Didn't they say that only love  
_ _will win in the end_

Something soft was covering her. Something warm.

Something was tickling her hair. Slow, steady breaths. When she opened her eyes she found his sleeping form next to her on top of the blankets, suit still in place, only his shoes discarded.

They were back at the safe house, that's the one thing she was sure of. But the rest was a blur. A brightly lit room, pictures, notes, that's all she remembered, and then voices, yes, that too.

And then…

_Oh._

The tickling had stopped. Instead she felt him starring.

"You saved my life."

His tone was indecipherable and she was at a loss for words. She wasn't sure if he expected a response from her. If there was a right or a wrong answer.

She shifted her body to get a better look at him.

"What happened afterwards?"

He moved a bit closer, barely any space between them now.

"I took you home."

"And?"

"And I called Mr. Kaplan so she and Dembe could take care of everything else. Including Daniel."

"He's okay?"

"He will be. Before you shot him, Tom was so kind to let me know his location. He was convinced I would never make it out of that warehouse alive, so telling me wouldn't hurt. Bring the emotional abuse to its limit, if you will."

"And he's gone? This is over?"

"Yes, Lizzie. It's all over."

He kissed her gently. "Thanks to you, it's all over."

"Then what's wrong, Red?"

She knew him too well. He had been trying so hard to control his emotions, it's what he was familiar with, it's what he was used to. But never with her. He could never lie to her. And he sounded so broken.

"Why did you do it, Lizzie?"

"Do what?"

"Why did you risk your life to save mine?"

He still didn't understand. He still couldn't accept it.

"Because you once told me that I deserved the best in life."

His heart was racing and she paused, smiled at him.

"You are my best thing, Red. My very best thing." Her lips were so soft against his. "Now I just need you to believe it. I didn't save you. We save each other, okay? We always save each other. We'll be alright."

"Lizzie."

That was all he managed. A declaration. Her name, her beautiful, beautiful name, a promise, something pure, something sublime. He pulled her towards him, breathed her in, kissed her again and again. Redemption and its sweet taste, her skin, a silent pact to never let go.

This, this was extraordinary.

This was intimacy and trust.

This was love.

This was peace.


End file.
